


Help

by kayjayuu



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayjayuu/pseuds/kayjayuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught. In the act.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MJ (mjr91)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjr91/gifts).



> Personal canon. Written for MJ for Christmas, 2007. One of the novels mentions that Malcolm has money, so of course he has a flat.

"Oh Jesus, Jon, right there!"

The darkness of the room swallowed up Malcolm's cry but it didn't matter, because Jon's eyes were either focused shut, or open and sharply aimed at one thing and one thing only: the man underneath him, clutching at Jon's waist with strong knees and thighs, straining deliciously against the restraints, pulling at the headboard…both of them catching breath which proved more and more difficult with every thrust—Jon's from the physical effort of giving Malcolm the best fuck of his life, so far and again, and Malcolm's from the overwhelming approach of the loss of the very edge of his control, and fast.

Jon shifted his center of gravity forward and up, and bucked faster.

"Oh God!"

He knew Malcolm's exclamation was louder than intended, than either of them wanted but damn—the middle of all this lust was not the time or place to remember to quiet down or to actually do anything like thinking at all, other than respond to every moan and shudder from the sweating body below that was taking everything Jon handed out, as his hips rocked unevenly at times but always with a clear, guided intent. And getting the desired results.

Malcolm was tight and hot and hard as a rock and noisy...noisy for Malcolm, noisy for Jon letting him—no, wanting him to make a little noise for once, instead of keeping him quiet with a hand, a scarf, a kiss, an order. Malcolm's flat was more spacious than the ship's back-to-back-to-back rooms that lined the halls and the neighbors weren't someone you had to face in the turbolift the next morning, or on the bridge, or in the privy. And the middle of the night a few days after Christmas meant anyone else in the household was probably too exhausted to do anything but sleep through the commotion.

Funny how being tired enough to just simply sleep had never entered the picture for them.

Jon's hands dug into the featherbed ticking on either side of Malcolm's upstretched arms, his muscles corded, his hands no longer luxuriating in the body-conforming comforter but acting as a fulcrum instead. They were almost the only part of Jon not in motion as he found more and better ways to make Malcolm a little crazier, to bring him a little closer to release…the kind of release that wasn't unselfish at all, that would make Malcolm tighten in waves around Jon and make Jon that much crazier and focused and vocal and breathless…make him see a rush of stars and light and oh-god-wanna-come-now-wanna-come-inside-you. The kind of release that prevented both of them from hearing the door across the room open or seeing the faint light spilling in over their bed from the hallway.

They both, however, heard the antique knob clack against the wall. And the little boy's voice.

"All right then, freeze!"

They froze. Oh how they froze. It was far and away the most uncomfortable five or so seconds that Jon had ever experienced.

_"Didn't you lock the--?"_

_"Me? I thought you--"_

"I got you in my sights," said the voice behind the upraised toy Andorian Imperial Guard rifle—which Jon remembered distinctly having second thoughts over buying him for Christmas, overruled by a much bigger and older Little Boy accompanying him. With deadly five-year-old seriousness he announced, "Don' move a muscle!"

Moving was both an improbability and a very real necessity, neither of them certain that any motion wouldn't disturb the blessed covering of quilts that protected what was left of their modesty. They each settled for blinking in the pale brightness, and Malcolm was the first to be able to speak a little louder, in a strained but stern Uncle voice, with clear effort and Jon's gratitude.

"Stinker. You should be in bed."

"I'm doin' patrols," came the equally stern-ish reply, and it struck Jon that they should be happy the tyke hadn't fired off the replica and roused the entire house. Malcolm's nephew, through and through. "Mummy says th' middle of th' night is quiet time, an' I came to see what woke me up."

Malcolm's hands fidgeted above his head in the dark. "You are not to be out wandering the house, I'm sure, young man."

"We didn't mean to wake you up, Stinker," Jon said, finding both breath and voice finally. "I'm sorry--"

_"I…can't…"_

_"What?"_

_"A little help with…"_ Malcolm jerked his head up toward the leather binding his wrists.

"Whatcha doin'?" Stinker lowered the rifle as his attention to his duty strayed.

Jon paled. Then grabbed blindly for the nearest loose whatever he could find, nearly losing his balance in the process. The crocheted throw flowed its soft pink fringes over and between Malcolm's arms, one end flopping over his forehead but at least doing the job of keeping prying young eyes away from something that Jon had no idea how to explain away. Not that current circumstances could be covered any easier. His mind flailed around for an answer.

"Um, just…we were, uh…"

_"If you say wrestling--"_

"…doing some--"

_"--I'll shoot you myself."_

"…practicing."

"Practicin' what?" Stinker piped up quite cheerily.

Of course there were more questions. And Malcolm's stirrings beneath Jon weren't boding well for a simple extraction from their…position. Especially when the headboard banged not-so-softly against the wall.

"Oh just practicing." Louder would hopefully distract the boy. "You know, things we need to…know how to do."

Alas, Stinker was as persistent as he was curious.

"Like what?"

A pause. "Well…"

_"Jon…"_

"If Uncle Mal ever gets, uh…"

_"Jon, don't."_

"…in trouble, then I have to, um--"

_"You don't explain everything to a child--"_

"…know how to rescue him."

_"WHAT?!"_

Jon ignored the uncharacteristic whispering squeak surrounding Malcolm's last word.

"Uncle Mal doesn't need rescuing!" Indignation obviously ran hot in the Reed blood.

"THAT'S RIGHT, HE DOESN'T."

While Malcolm had never kicked Jon in bed before, at least not on purpose, Jon was aware there was always a first time for everything. "Just in case--"

_"Oh for god's sake, keep digging."_

"…you know, I need to know how--"

_"Deeper, everyone will hear about it now."_

"…to get him out of a tough—ow!" The smug smirk on Malcolm's face, though fleeting, was quite evident to Jon through the coverlet's fringe.

By now, Stinker's Christmas present hung by his side, his mission completely forgotten. "I wanna practice too! I wanna rescue Uncle Mal!"

Oh Christ.

"Mm-hm."

It was Jon's turn to make with the stern voice, too focused on the boy and the growing knot on his leg to hear the shuffle of more grown-up footsteps in the hallway.

"Maybe tomorrow but only if you go to bed now--"

"Stinker!" A larger shadow fell through the door next to the boy's. "You know better than to be up in…the middle…oh my."

If Surak himself had entered the room, Jon's heart wouldn't have stopped any faster.

A pillow flumped over the throw at an odd angle, Jon barely hanging on to it with the one hand free from maintaining a precarious three-point balance and knowing it wasn't really covering up a thing, not from Maddy. A sharp eye also ran in the Reed blood. Fortunately, so did quick reflexes.

In one smooth fluid motion Stinker's mother had caught his wrist and yanked him from the doorway, his Imperial Guard rifle clattering against the framing. The next second the bedroom door whooshed shut, followed by what seemed to Jon to be an interminable silence until he realized he could breathe, and probably should. And did.

Then there was the very female snorting giggle heard from the other side of the door, interspersed with Stinker's excited pronouncements of rescuing Uncle Mal tomorrow.

"Oh, wonderful." Head leaning back, Malcolm hauled himself up closer to the headboard, yanking on the restraints in earnest now that the coast was clear. "I'll be hearing about this one forever."

Jon let the pillow and the blankets fall. " _We'll_ be hearing about it."

"No, Maddy likes you too much. I'm her brother. It's complicated."

Jon frowned, picking strands of the knitted fringing from the quick-release clasp. "I hope she knows we weren't-- I wasn't-- I wouldn't…hurt you."

Malcolm's expression softened even as he tugged one wrist free of the leather, sitting up almost into Jon. "Number one, we're consenting adults. Number two, she knows I could hurt you, so that's not even an issue." He threaded it through the headboard spindle and examined it as closely as he could. "Number three, she's very aware of this soft spot you apparently have for me, Captain Archer. And you love dogs and her children, so…no worries." A quick kiss to Jon's neck punctuated his reassurance. "Not to mention I've probably handcuffed every one of her dolls at one time or another while growing up."

Jon laughed and sat back, still a bit self-conscious. "Well, that's better than blowing them up."

Malcolm shrugged, intent on the faulty fastener even in the dark.

"You…didn't. Really?"

"One. No wait, two," he corrected himself, distracted. "I'm more interested in why this didn't release, we can't afford defective toys. Takes away all the fun."

"Oh I don't know, things got pretty exciting there for a few moments."

Raising his eyebrows, Malcolm stood and padded toward the door.

"Something tells me a Klingon boarding party wouldn't have been quite so reticent about shooting first. And my nephew has a lot to learn about 'patrols'." After peering into the hallway, he locked the door, pulling firmly on the knob and turning around to lean against the frame, twirling the now-undone leather cuffs absently. "But not tonight."

In the mostly dark room, Jon could feel the heat from his partner's wonderful smirk.

"Something on your mind, Lieutenant?"

"If there's rescuing to be performed around here, Captain, it'll be done by the head of ship's security."

"Oh. In that case…" Jon sprawled back onto the featherbed tick, leaning up on his elbows with a smile. "Help."

**Author's Note:**

> With Malcolm's nickname being "Stinky," I thought it appropriate that there be a family tradition with the name.


End file.
